


Even Super-Soldiers Take Time to Heal

by jennserr



Series: The Misadventures of Avengers Initiates [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Broken Bones, Crack, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Old Peggy Carter, POV First Person, POV Transgender Character, Super Soldier, Torture, alternate POV, alternating pov, black widow's daughter, computer hacker, genetic experiments, hawkeye's niece, this is such a crack fic yall, transgender character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennserr/pseuds/jennserr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serra Barton and Valeriya Romanov--Hawkeye's niece and Black Widow's daughter, respectively--have just returned from a high-profile mission in Russia, and unfortunately, not everything went as planned. Now they're stuck in the hospital and taken off active duty until who knows when, and they aren't exactly the type to sit still for long. Fortunately, Steve Rogers is a good storyteller.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Serra Wakes Up

Serra's POV

 

“Fuck this hurts!”

“It’d hurt a lot less if you'd just stop squirming, Barton,” the agent picking the bullet out of my foot grunted.

“Still hurts like a bitch,” I hissed through clenched teeth. I can't remember a time when I’d been in this much pain. My foot had been shot three times, one of the bullets not passing all the way through, my right hand and wrist were shattered, with bits of bone sticking out in several places, and my ribs and spine were bruised from the beating I'd received. Not to mention the various cuts they’d given me as a means of torture—those stung like hell.

First big field mission, and we'd both been compromised and tortured. And I still didn’t know what happened to Valeriya after her earpiece shorted out.

“Hey, Thomas?” I yelled up at the cockpit. “Any word yet from May on Romanov's condition?”

There was relative silence for a while, the only sounds being the squelching of Agent Jordan digging through my foot and the dull roar of the turbines. Eventually, he responded, “Not much. Just that they’ll be getting back later than us.”

I sighed, then had to bite back a scream as Jordan wiggled the bullet out of my foot with a squelch. “Finally got it!” she exclaimed in triumph, holding the dented bullet up like a trophy.

“Great! Now do you want to finish wrapping my foot up?” I managed to say.

“Oh, right, right. Uh, do you mind unclenching your hand and taking it off the field kit? Jeez, your knuckles are whiter than your wrist bones.”

I lifted my good hand and glared at her.

“Right. Sorry. Bad joke.”

“Got that right,” Thomas remarked from the cockpit.

“Just get it over with,” I grunted. “Doesn't have to be perfect.”

“And we’ll be in a real hospital in about three hours, so no worries.”

“Wow, only three hours?” I snarked, as Jordan began dressing my foot, having already plugged the last bullet hole. “Such a short amount of time! Why don’t we stop off in, I don’t know, Paris for a trip down the Seine while we’re at it?”

“Alright, I get the hint, I’ll open up the throttle a bit more,” Thomas relented, and a moment later I felt the thrusters kick in, causing me to lean in my seat towards the back of the jet, and also causing Jordan to misplace the pin that was supposed to hold the bandages on my foot in place. I know, because it stabbed me.

Agent Jordan, of course, didn't notice for several seconds, as she was looking around for the very pin currently stuck in my foot. “Where did that pin go? I could have sworn I had it in my hand not five seconds ago...” She was looking around on the floor, everywhere but where it actually was.

“Why don't you check my foot?” I suggested with a forced smile.

She did, and let out a gasp, followed by an, “Oh my god, I’m sorry!”

“It's okay. I’m a Carter, and a Barton, _and_ a super-soldier. I can take it.” I winced slightly as she pulled it out.

“No you can’t,” Thomas remarked.

“You shut up.”

“You may be all those things, but you're still Serra.”

“I said shut up.”

“I’m your supervising officer. You don’t talk to me like that.”

“But Romanov—”

“No, she doesn’t. And even if she did, she's technically higher clearance anyways. And she's a Romanov.”

He had a point.

“Matter of fact,” he continued, “I’m pretty sure Valeriya has been in SHIELD longer than I have, and I've been here since I graduated high school.”

I blinked. “And when was that, exactly?”

“That's classified,” he chuckled.

I _hmph_ ed and crossed my arms, then immediately regretted it as pain shot through my bruised ribs. Apparently, painkillers don't work so well when you put pressure on the thing that’s in pain. Who would’ve thought.

“Your ribs will heal a lot faster than the rest of you,” Jordan said as she stood up. “And your foot’ll follow soon after. Now, your hand....” She gave me a sad smile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it until we get back to DC. Sorry, Kiddo.”

“If Romanov can run through an obstacle course on a broken leg, I can survive three hours without moving a broken hand.”

“Yes, but you're not Romanov,” she chided.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not like everybody is always reminding me,” I snapped. “‘You're not as strong as Romanov.’ ‘Romanov’s a better fighter.’ ‘You're not as smart as Romanov.’ ‘You shouldn't be in the field, it should just be Romanov.’” I stared down at the floor and sighed. “Yeah, it's all true, but it still hurts. I only had a little bit of the Serum, and she's...she’s basically a pureblood. And people assume that I’m as strong as Steve was, and that I know how to fight, and when they learn that I don't live up to their expectations, they see me as a failure. Captain America’s so-called ‘legacy,’ and...I don't even come close to living up to the name. “

I took in a shuddering breath and blinked blurry eyes.”I was literally born to be the next Captain America, but...I don’t know, something...something went wrong, and they got me. All I’m good at is computers.”

“And you're a wonderful communications agent because of it,” Jordan said in a soft voice.

“Agent in training,” I muttered.

“And how many agents in training do you know who go on actual missions?”

“...Does Ops count?”

She smiled at that. “It doesn't matter what you were born to do, or who you're being overshadowed by.”

I snorted.

“What matters is what you do. And you are the best coder SHIELD has ever seen, even better than Natasha Romanov _and_ Tony Stark.”

I forced a laugh. “Nobody’s better than Stark at programming.”

“Programming, sure. But straight up coding and hacking? Serra, you're the best there is. And I know I speak for your uncle, and for Thomas up front, for Natasha and Valeriya, and for every other agent in SHIELD when I say, we’re proud of you.”

I looked up at her through blonde banges and watery eyes. “Even Fury?”

She laughed and put a hand on my left shoulder. “Especially Fury.”

Her words brought a smile to my face, one that touched the corners of my wet eyes and caused the tears gathered there to spill down my cheeks. It would have been the perfect moment, were it not for the fact that I was being tortured less than two hours ago. Or the fact that two very distinct ringtones had just sounded at their loudest volume.

One phone—my phone—was playing “I Kissed A Girl,” while the other was playing some violin piece I’d never heard. I mean, I’d heard the ringtone before, which was for Valeriya's phone and only when her mother called, but never actually listened to the piece.

Jordan and I looked at each other with apprehension as Thomas called back to us that the phones were in the pocket of his jacket where it lay on one of the seats opposite where I sat. Jordan stood to get them, then held both phones out to me. I looked uneasily between the two, before hitting the “end call” button on Romanov’s phone and accepting the call on my own, taking it from Jordan’s hand with my good one it bringing it up to my ear as I did.

“Hello?”

Clint sounded anxious when he answered. “Serra? Oh god, please tell me you're okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just a little banged up, nothing too serious,” I replied, my brows furrowing. “Why?”

 _A little banged up?_ Jordan mouthed at me. I made a face at her as Clint breathed a sight of relief. “Fury called, said your mission was compromised. Are you both okay? Is Lera there? Are you in a safe area?”

I hesitated, trying to decide how to word my response. “Well, I’m in the jet with agents Thomas and Jordan. And Valeriya....” I sighed.

“What? What happened to her?”

“...Is Natasha with you?”

“Of course.”

“Put her on speaker.”

“Serra, you're scaring me.” Nevertheless, I heard a click, then the soft hiss of static and wind could be heard. “Okay, it’s on speaker.”

“Clint, Natasha... Valeriya isn’t with us.” I heard someone, most likely Natasha, take in a sharp breath. “I don't know where she is, or what happened to her after her earpiece cut out towards the end of the mission. I think Agent May got her out, but I’m not sure in what state, and we've heard nothing since. All I know is...” I took in a shaky breath. “She never told them anything. Never gave away my position, let alone told them she was working with anyone. You’d be proud of her.”

Nobody spoke for a moment, though I could swear I heard someone on the other end crying.

Eventually, Natasha spoke up in a tight voice. “She...she was very well trained, and very brave. I couldn’t be more proud of her.” A faint sob sounded, but I’m not sure whether it came from me or her. Most likely both.

“And you, Serra?” Clint asked. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Physically? Or emotionally?”

That got a laugh from both of them, as well as Jordan, though Natasha's was a cross between a laugh and a sob. “Both, I guess,” Clint said.

“Well,” I started, looking down at my now-numb right hand, completely wrapped in bandages. “They crushed one of my hands, then shot me in the foot three times...oh, and they gave my ribs quite the beating too, not to mention cutting me up a little. Mostly shallow cuts, nothing too serious.”

“Geez,” Clint chuckled, “you're even more banged up than the both of us, and we just fought off a fucking alien invasion.”

Wait. “A _what_ invasion? Are you being serious?”

“Better believe it, Kiddo. We can tell you all about it when you get back.”

“Which’ll be in about three hours,” I said, then raised my voice so Thomas could hear me. “We might even get back in two hours if the pilot opens up the throttle more!”

“This is the fastest I’m going to go unless you're both strapped in,” he called back. “So either shut up or buckle up.”

“So, I take it we’ll see you and Thomas in two hours?” Clint asked.

“Probably, yeah. Though I probably won’t be awake when we get in.” I yawned. “Damn pain meds are making me drowsy.”

“Don’t worry about it, we're doing enough worrying over here as it is. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

“I suppose...Alright, see you when we get in.”

“See ya then, kid. And tell Mark to suck a dick.” Clint said, which had the simultaneous effect of making Natasha laugh and making me confused. But before I could ask him about it, he hung up, leaving me to wonder what kind of story could spawn that phrase. Shrugging, I set my phone on my lap, then began the process of buckling myself into my seat using only one hand. Jordan had to help me with the right strap, as I couldn't really get it past my smashed hand on my own.

Soon as we were both buckled in, we let Thomas know, and almost immediately we felt throttle open up, and soon enough we were nearing speeds of nearly Mach 2. With any luck, we’d be able to cut our return time by at least a half hour, and I fell asleep to thoughts of home and the sound of the engines.

 

* * *

 

The first thing I felt when I woke up was a pain in my hand. Then a pain in my foot. Then my ribs. And as I became more and more conscious, the pain only worsened, until I couldn’t help but cry out in agony.

“What's going on?” A female voice asked. “Did the pain meds wear off already?”

“Duh, she's a super-soldier!” Male voice. Yelling. “Her metabolism is at least twice as fast as ours!” Familiar.

_Pain. So much pain. It hurts so fucking much! Make it stop!_

“No, don’t give her that big of a dose, we just landed! She’ll be at the hospital in less than half an hour!” Male voice again. Same person? _Too loud, talking too loud. I wish they’d shut up._ “Ugh, forget it. No, don’t put it back, just give it to her as is!”

I felt a pinch in my right arm, at the elbow I think. Not painful, but unpleasant, though nowhere near as unpleasant as the pain in my hand or foot. _Fuck, it hurts! Just please make it stop!_

“Serra? Serra, look at me.” I turned towards whoever was speaking and opened my eyes, then was temporarily blinded by bright lights. “Clint's here, and he's going to take you to the hospital, okay?” It took a little while to register through the pain what the person—Jordan, I figured out—was saying. Clint. My uncle. He was here. We’d arrived. Hospital. Pain. Oh god, the pain.

Pressure on my shoulder. A hand. Arm. Clint's face. “Hey, Kiddo, I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay? We’ve got an ambulance on standby for you, okay?”

I shook my head, clenching my jaw to avoid crying out. “Not fast enough.”

Clint actually chuckled. “Serra, the ambulance _is_ the fastest- You need to- They need to patch you up in—” I kept shaking my head until he finally stopped talking and sighed. “Fine. But this is on you. And if I get a ticket, it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

“Fine.” I winced. “Just get me there.” The pain in my hand and foot weren't as bad anymore, and I could think a little more clearly. Pain meds must be kicking in already. One of the benefits of having a higher metabolism, but also one of the drawbacks; the effects kick in sooner, but don't last as long.

I sucked in a breath as Clint picked me up out ot my seat, jostling my hand in the process. _Fuck_ that hurt, though not as much as I would have thought. Did they give me morphine or something? Geez. Strong stuff.

“What they give me?” I drawled, turning my face to look up at my uncle. “It's fast.”

“Hm?” He hummed, and his chest vibrated. _Weeeiirrd._ “No idea. Probably morphine.” We were outside the jet now, and the sky was a lot brighter than I remembered. I don’t think the sun was up yet. Or maybe it had already gone down? No idea. Time is an illusion, and I can't comprehend shit. “A _lot_ of morphine, based on how hard it's hitting you already.”

“What? No, I’m fiiiiine.” I tried to wave my left hand for emphasis, but it didn't move much because it was trapped between my body and Clint's. “I’m just a little tired is all.”

My uncle set me down on my left foot as gently as he could so he could open the car door. “They told me you were sleeping on the flight over.” He helped me into the front seat, making sure not to hit my foot or hand. Still hurt a little. But, on the positive, my ribs didn’t hurt when I leaned back. “And that’s not sleep deprivation talking, that's high-dosage pain meds. Definitely morphine.” He closed the door, and then somehow was in the driver's seat less than two seconds later. I don't remember him starting the car, but I could hear wind breaking around us, and I could feel us moving at high speeds.

“Where we going?”

Clint sighed. I think. It was either him or the wind. “To the hospital, where they're going to get you patched up.” The wind _whooshed_ around the car. Or Clint sighed again. I couldn't tell. “They really did a number on you, didn't they...”

“Wha, this?” I raised my hastily-bandaged right hand and waved it around a little. “Doesn’t hurt bad.” I accidentally smacked it against the window, which sent a jolt of pain up my arm. “Okay, maybe some little hurt.”

“Just stop waving your arm around, and hang on a little longer, okay? We're almost there.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Almost there.”

I nodded absentmindedly and turned to look out the window. We were in the city now, I think. There were lots of lights everywhere, all sparkly and shiny and bright. So pretty...

 

* * *

 

_Beep...beep...beep...beep...beep..._

Sounds slowly crept into my head. Beeping, steadily. Talking; muted, far away. Whirring; a fan, maybe an AC unit. Cars, honking and driving; also muted. Sirens; not as muted.

I slowly cracked my eyes open, then shut them quickly at the bright lights that filled my vision. I tried to shield my eyes with my right hand, but it felt heavy and awkward and bulky, and I ended up smacking myself in the face with it, which had the effect of hurting both my nose and my wrist.

"Ow! Fuck!" The beeping increased, and I brought my other hand up to rub my arm. Which felt weird, and not at all like what my arm should feel like, or what the bandages that Jordan put on it felt like.

I gradually opened my eyes, which eventually adjusted to the harsh light of the room, and as I looked around, it all started coming back to me. My broken hand, which was now in a rough cast. My shot foot. The torture. The plane ride back. Waking up, and, apparently being given way too much morphine. I groaned inwardly, hoping I hadn't said or done anything stupid. Well, anything stupider than usual.

The room I was in was, well, quite obviously a hospital room. There was a heart rate monitor to my left, which I realized was what had been making the beeping sounds, I sat, or lay, on a standard hospital bed, underneath a thin blanket and probably wearing a hospital gown. Ugh, the thought of someone undressing me....it sent shivers down my spine. To my right was a window, out which I could see city lights and darkness. Alright, so it's still night.

To my right was a door, a door through which a nurse had just stepped through. She must have been in her very early 20s, probably 21 or 22; she was certainly young, probably having started an internship here recently. And she was definitely pretty; thin black glasses perched over a small nose, bright green eyes, small chin and thin but defined jaw and cheekbones, coppery red hair tied back in a small, neat bun... My eyes drifted lower, and while her nurses clothes weren’t anywhere near revealing, they did give me a nice view of her—

“Ah, good to see you're awake, Miss Barton. How do you feel?”

“Uh...” I shook my head slightly, coming back to reality. “Well, considering my foot was shot, my wrist shattered, my body sliced up and beaten, then drugged up to the point of unconsciousness, and no longer knowing what day it is...I feel perfectly fine, thank you for asking. How do you feel?”

The nurse gave me a tight smile. “Well, it's just after two in the morning, on Sunday. You've been asleep nearly eight hours. As for your injuries, I’m afraid I can't tell you much else, except that nothing serious was damaged. Dr. Spencer should be in in a few minutes; she’ll tell you the full extent of your injuries.”

“Full extent? You mean, there’s more than—”

“Not necessarily, no. But she will be going over how long it should take them to heal, and how you should take care of them for the time being.”

“Can’t you just tell me yourself?”

She appeared to consider it for a second, but then, without a word, she turned and left.

“Nice talking to you,” I muttered as the door shut behind her.

Alone once again, I took stock of my injuries. Large swathes of brown wrappings covering my right wrist and hand. More bandages, white and mesh-like rather than the ace wraps on my arm, wrapped around my foot. Even more bandages wrapped relatively tightly around my chest, presumably covering gauze pads and other small bandages on the numerous cuts I'd received. Other than that, no other injuries, at least none that I could feel. Except for wounded trust, I thought ruefully, looking down at my hospital gown.

It wasn’t even the fact that a complete stranger had undressed me while I was either unconscious or only vaguely conscious, though that was certainly a contributing factor. Nor was it the fact that I had no recollection of being prepped for surgery, let alone arriving at the hospital in the first place. No, it was the fact that we weren't allowed hardly any backup for a mission that, for Valeriya especially, turned deadly. I mean, yeah, we had no real way of knowing that we'd be captured, but we should have been prepared for it. That mission...it wasn't the kind of mission you send two teenagers on without any backup on standby in the immediate area, especially when one of them isn’t even a field agent. Or really, not even an agent in general, not exactly. I’m still in academy, for God's sake. What were they thinking sending me on a Level 5 mission where I'd have to be in the field?

I was still in the midst of thinking about what a failure that mission was when the door opened and Dr. Spencer walked in, carrying a tablet.

“You know, usually when I see you in a hospital room, it’s because Agent Romanov was injured on one of your missions. I don’t think I've ever seen you in here alone, let alone because you were injured.”

I forced a laugh. “Yeah, there's a reason I’m not a field agent.”

She chuckled and looked down at her tablet. “Well, from what I understand, you’re very lucky that you got out in as good a condition as you did.”

I looked down to where my hand lay at my side. "I don't think luck had anything to do with it...”

“...You're referring to Romanov, aren't you?”

I nodded, not looking up.

Dr. Spencer let out something resembling a sympathetic sigh. “From what I’ve heard, she risked her life for you.”

I nodded again.

She layed a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I looked up into deep brown eyes filled with concern. “I’m sure she's just fine now, Serra.” She sighed again and looked down, then squeezed my shoulder slightly. “I’ll...I’ll let you know if there’s any news I can give you about her condition. In the meantime, you should get some rest. You may be part super-soldier, but you don't heal anywhere near as fast as your partner, and that wrist of yours is going to take about a month to fully heal. And speaking of which—"

“That’ll be all for now, doctor,” a gruff voice said from the doorway, and Spencer and I turned to see Director Fury standing just inside the room, a manila folder in one hand at his side. “Please, leave us. I need to debrief Barton.”

Dr. Spencer turned to him with parted lips, then close them, bowed her head slightly, and left without another word. The director and I both watched her go, and when she had left the room Fury closed the door behind her, then looked at me with an unreadable face.

Great. Debriefing.


	2. Uncle Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short interaction piece between Serra Barton and her uncle, Hawkeye, following Serra and Valeriya's ill-fated mission. Also, a little bit of backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've updated, it's just been a really crazy year so far, and winter break was....well, it could have gone a lot better. Way better. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Serra's POV

 

“A wheelchair? Really? C’mon, at least give me some crutches or something, so I don't have to rely on someone to wheel me around.”

“If your hand hadn't been smashed to pieces, then yes, you could use crutches. However, since that is not the case, and as it's standard hospital discharge procedure, you’re just going to have to suck it up and let me wheel you around for the time being, at least until either your hand or foot gets better. I’m just...glad, that you’re at least still in one piece. Mostly.”

Ugh, the indignity of it all. Because my foot still hadn't healed, and wouldn't for at least another week, I couldn't exactly walk, and because my hand had definitely not yet healed, I couldn't use crutches to get around. It was a wonder the surgeons had even managed to completely reconstruct it, given the state it was in. So now, here I was, being wheeled out of the hospital by my uncle four days after the mission, with explicit instructions to not even attempt to walk until my foot had healed most of the way, as well as care instructions for Clint that I mostly zoned out during. Dressing changes and medication times and such. There was something about seeing a physical therapist soon, I think.

At least I was back in my normal clothes, thanks to Clint bringing them from our apartment. Granted, it had taken some time and, grudgingly, some help to put them on, though to be fair, it isn’t exactly easy putting pants on when you can’t bend over without your ribs feeling like they're going to break again.

All in all, for the next few days, I would be pretty helpless. And I still didn't know where my partner was.

“Can I go see grandma Peggy?” I asked as we neared his car. I hadn't gone to see her in a while, and while I wasn’t really looking forward to coming out to her again, I figured she could use the company. I know I certainly could.

“ _Sure_ , I don't see why not. Not like you've just been _discharged_ from the _hospital_ or anything." I rolled my eyes at his less than subtle sarcasm. "But if you really do want to see her, I’m going to have to drop you off; I've got some errands to run, and Natasha asked me to get something for her as well.”

Finally at the car, Clint opened the front passenger door for me, and I stood from the wheelchair and lowered myself into the seat, using my left hand and foot for balance and to steady myself against the door frame.

“Speaking of Romanov- _ow!_ How's she doing?”

Clint seemed to zone out a bit as I furiously rubbed my hand against the pain, though it did absolutely nothing with the bandages in the way. “She’s...Nat's doing as well as can be expected.” He shook his head slightly, then looked down at me and gave me a small smile. “Worrying won’t help you heal, and it certainly won’t make news of Lera get here any faster. Besides, you wanted to see your grandmother, right?”

“Well, I haven't seen her in a while...”

He leaned one arm against the top of the door frame and looked at me with near-genuine concern written across his face. “Are you sure, though? Her memory is probably getting worse, and you said she used your old name the last time you visited her.”

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Okay then.” He tapped his hand against the roof of the car two times, then backed away and shut my door. A moment later, he was sitting in the driver's seat and keying the ignition, and before I knew it we were pulling out of the parking lot and putting the hospital behind us. For now.

I gazed out the window as we drove, watching the world pass by, and was filled with a sudden sense of how petty people's problems seemed now that I’d been tortured, even if only slightly. So many people worried about whether or not they'd be paid enough, or if they'd ever find love, or if they'd ever feel content with their lives. And yeah, I used to worry about that kind of stuff too, but in light of recent events, it pales in comparison to the realization that you may not make it out of a situation in one piece, if you even make it out at all.

“You're being unusually quiet, kid. You doing okay?”

“Hm?” I blinked and turned to face my uncle, to be met with him alternating between paying attention to the road and giving me his ‘I’m concerned for you’ look. “No, I’m...just thinking.”

“About the mission?”

“Sort of.” I looked down while I attempted to gather my thoughts. “How do you do it? Come home and act like nothing's wrong, even though you've shot people, been shot at, maybe even almost died.”

“You don’t,” was his reply a moment later.

_Oh._

“There’s no such thing as coming back to a normal life, especially after some of the stuff that we’ve been through. All you can do is put on a smile for your loved ones, keep them from worrying about you so they can focus on being happy.”

“I..I never thought of it that way..”

“And why would you? You’re not a field agent,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’ve never been in a situation where it's kill or be killed. You’ve never had to experience the helplessness of being unable to stop someone you trusted from hurting or killing someone close to—oh.”

I looked down at my hands in silence, trying not to think about the reason one of them was in a cast. “I had- I listened to- they _tortured_ her, Clint! They did horrible things to her, and I had to listen to it! And who knows what they did to her after her earpiece shorted out! For all we know, they-” I took a shaking breath. “This is as hard for me as it is for you. You weren’t there, I was-”

“You're wrong,” he whispered. “It’s so much harder for me. Because I wasn't there for her.” He drew a slow breath. “It was bad enough when we lost her sister, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose her too.”

That brought me up short.

“She....Valeriya had a sister?”

Clint said nothing. And then continued to say nothing for nearly a minute, allowing the radio to fill the silence with a report about something big that happened in New York, something that did a lot of property damage. I think I even heard them say ‘aliens’ a few times.

“She had a twin,” he said after a time.

“...And?” I prompted, after he refused to say more.

“And she died when they were 6. End of story.”

“Wh- you can’t just say that my partner had a sister who died nearly ten years ago and leave it at that! What happened? You were obviously a part of her- _their_ lives then, so who were you to them? Is that why she sometimes calls you ‘dad’?”

Clint sighed, something between wearily and dramatically. “Kid, that's a whole story for another day, and not one I’d really like to tell until I know that Lera is safe.”

“But now’s the perfect time! It’s still another hour or so until we get to grandma Peggy, plus it’s a way to pass time while...while we wait for word on Valeriya.”

Clint drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and sighed for a full 30 seconds. “I suppose I could...” Yet another sigh. “Fine. But you have to understand, this isn't just my story to tell. And if Lera hasn’t told you any part of it, it’s probably for a reason.”

“That reason being she still doesn’t trust me, I bet..” I grumbled.

“I’m sure she trusts you. Just...There are levels of trust. And remember, you two haven't always gotten along.”

“Understatement of the century.”

We drove in silence for a little while longer. When we started to hit traffic, Clint started speaking.


	3. Coulson, Can We Keep Them?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory time~!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are spoiled today. Two updates in a row, one written by me, the other written by my amazing girlfriend (she wrote the longer one; it's about 9 pages long). Hopefully we can keep this pace up.

It was supposed to be a quick in and out after the bombing. Get what files they could, eliminate survivors, and get out. Hawkeye picked his way through the wreckage of the fourth floor of the building. The charges had been localized on floors the group had been operating out of, the entire facility hadn’t been involved necessarily but better safe than sorry, and since he’d already gone and destroyed their systems, he made his way through the building. A shift in the rubble a few feet to his left drew his attention, and his bow was strung in milliseconds.

“Anyone there?” Silence. Slowly he approached the area, scanning for survivors and finding only a shadow that slid back into darkness. “Hello?” It’d been too small to be an enemy operative, he was sure of it. Keeping his bow level Hawkeye kicked the remains of a door out of the way and froze.

The shadow _had_ been a person, just a very small one. The kid pressed flat against the wall behind her, shrinking back from the man. She was tiny- about four if he had to guess- and dirty from the explosions. Shoulder length red hair was mussed about and the dark blue dress showed telltale signs of having been near the charge when it detonated. Hawkeye lowered his bow, crouching beside the girl. “Phil, I’ve got a kid here…”

“There wasn’t anything about kids on the premises when-“

“I’m bringing her with me.” He heard his handler sigh through coms but he didn’t say anything to the contrary. He smiled disarmingly at the kid, holding out a hand. “Let’s get you out of here.” She stayed silent, glaring at his outstretched hand. “ _Do you speak English?_ ” His Russian was a tad bit rusty, he hated to admit. He was rewarded with a barely perceptible head shake. _“That’s okay. My name is Clint._ ” He smiled at her but she didn’t move. “ _Come with me, I’ll take you home._ ” Still no reaction. She was remarkably calm for having just been trapped in an explosion that killed whoever she’d been here with. Putting his bow down in a show of good faith he took a step towards her. She didn’t react until he picked her up. “ _It’s okay, you’re going to be okay-_ Ow!”

She weighed next to nothing but she slammed her foot just under his last rib with surprising power. He struggled to not drop her in surprise but she struggled against him, still silent. She wiggled out of his grasp, got in another solid kick to his shins, and took off down what was left of the hall. “Shit, she’s on the move. West corridor, fourth floor. Not an English speaker.”

“Even if I say don’t, you’re going to follow her. Carry on.”

The kid had the advantage of knowing the building and being surprisingly sure footed despite the rubble and bare feet, but she’d only gone a few yards when the floor shook. There was a crash from above and suddenly the girl was screaming. “Barton, what’s going on?” The girl was slumped against the wall, head in her hands, sobbing. Slowly, Hawkeye approached her. “ _It’s okay. I won’t hurt you._ ” The tiny redhead didn’t look even look at him. “ _What’s your name? Come on, it’ll be okay._ ” Hawkeye tried to grab the girl as Coulson’s voice in his ear reminded him the unstable building could come down any moment but she darted off again to a hall off their left.

“Sofya!” Her tiny feet let her scurry away faster than he would have thought possible for such a young girl. “Sofya!” Not sure what else to do, Hawkeye followed. He caught up to her only when her path was blocked by a pile of concrete and a demolished wall- and another little girl. Completely identical aside from the color of their dresses, the new one was in green, and also silent. Her foot was stuck under a chunk of caved in wall. Coulson’s insistence that the building was unstable grew more impatient. Clint grabbed the second girl under her arms and pulled her away from the rubble as another piece of ceiling came down. She struggled against him, surprisingly strong for her small size, and he tried not to drop her.

“Barton the building’s gonna come down, get out of there,” Coulson’s voice reminded him as he scooped up the other little girl.

“There ya’ go, Kiddo,” he sighed. They didn’t make another sound as he carried the twins outside. “Coulson, I’m headed to you. We’ve got guests.”

* * *

 His handler didn’t say anything as Clint carried the kids onto the jet. The girls had yet to say anything, they just sat side by side, watching everything. Neither complained of pain or injuries despite blood smear on their face and clothes.

Coulson waited for an explanation.

“I found her-” Hawkeye pointed to the one on the right, “-on the fourth floor. Completely calm until I tried to pick her up.” Clint shot a glance over his shoulder to where one of the girls had perched herself on one of the seats. "And I found the other not far from the first." Her identical counterpart sat beside her. They were watching them, though he was pretty sure they didn’t understand him. “She kicks hard for someone so small.” He’d have bruises, he was sure.

“And your first thought was to bring them back with you?”

“I sure as hell wasn’t going to shoot at kids.”

Coulson gave him a look. “I wasn’t suggesting that, Barton. I’m just wondering if there’s a family looking for them. They can’t be more than five; someone’s missing their daughters.”

“Assuming the blasts didn’t kill them.” They shifted somewhat uncomfortably. They’d never just found a kid like this before, not in a research facility at least. “They were doing human testing. We have to look at the possibility of them being subjects.” Again, both sets of eyes turned toward the kids who were now looking out the window, standing on tiptoes to do so.

Coulson pulled out a phone. “I’ll let the director know about the situation. We’ll run their DNA and names when we get back, see if we can find their family.” The agents nodded, leaving him to his calls.

“Yes, Sir, I understand that its highly unusual. No, Sir. Of course. No, Barton understands the sit- Yes, Sir.” The call clicked to an end and Coulson returned the phone to his pocket. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Those two, I swear…” There was a tug on his coat and he spun in surprise. He smiled down at the little girls. “ _Da?_ ”

One small girl pushed matted red hair out of her face, the other twisting in the fabric of her nightgown. “ _Dyadya, ya goloden…_ ” It was an admission, though he had no idea of what. They stared at the ground.

The man caught Clint’s eye. “Barton. I believe our friends have a question.” The girl looked up at him, unsure of addressing the one who’d dragged her away from the facility. He nodded reassuringly.

“ _I’m hungry,_ ” one of them said at last, sounding put out at the confession.

Clint smiled. “ _Let’s see what we can do about that._ ” The children followed silently to a small cupboard, waiting patiently for the result. “Coulson, you have any food?”

He shot him a curious look. “No, what for?”

Eventually he found some crackers and an apple which he presented to the girls along with a water bottle. They didn’t take them immediately. “ _I need to wash my hands._ ” the other spoke at last. Barton almost laughed at the matter of fact tone the child took.

“ _I think just this time its okay if you two don’t._ ” After a moment of consideration the girls took the food, returning to their original seats to eat. As was his nature, Clint watched and analyzed.

Coulson was right, the girls had to be no older than five, though small for their age if that was the case. Their hair was shoulder length and wavy, a shade of red that made the blue eyes seem iridescent. Despite the dirty face it was clear both had a light dusting of freckles along their cheeks. They sat straight backed, legs crossed beneath them, eyes sweeping their surroundings every now and then.

Clint kept his eyes from narrowing in suspicion. He didn’t think the kids was dangerous but there was something unnerving about the behavior. It was too similar to an agent’s, there was more training and routine in it than any child should have. “ _What’s your name?_ ”

The girls paused, mouths full of apple. A second later they resumed chewing as if they hadn’t heard the question. He asked again with the same result.

“ _You were very polite to Coulson, I know you have good manners. I’d like to have good manners, too, and call you by your names. Like I said earlier my name is Clint._ ” Still no response. He looked to Coulson, who just shrugged. The girls didn’t trust them enough yet to share that information. Being raised in captivity had that effect on people. “ _Did you get hurt when the building fell down?_ ” He was rewarded with a small nod from one but no elaboration. “ _Does it still hurt?_ ” A head shake no by the other as they finished the apple.

Clint looked the one in blue over skeptically. If she’d been as close to a charge as it looked like she had been, the girl would be in a lot worse shape. If someone had pulled her away or thrown themselves on top of her to protect her, why hadn’t there been any sign of them? There didn’t appear to be more than a few scrapes on her sister so maybe the blood wasn’t hers. The kids stifled a yawn, watching the agents as if it would keep them awake. “ _You can sleep, you’re safe here._ ” After being shot a doubtful look by the little girls, they left her alone.

Dutifully, they had lasted several hours before falling asleep. Clint had thrown a blanket over them when they realized. The two were so damn quiet awake there wasn’t much of a difference. Neither woke up again till they landed at the Hub, Coulson scooping them up carefully. Though clearly still sleepy the momentary hesitation wondering to struggle or not was written across their face. They decided against it, small hands balling in the collar of his suit coat and they rest their heads against his shoulders as he carried them with Barton to Medical.

If the facilities were a surprise to them, it didn’t show. Their eyes darted from agent to agent, security camera to computer monitors, watching with curiosity as each swiped their access cards across a scanner. Having been informed of the team’s return, a nurse was already waiting with a polite smile to take the kids. " _This is Mackenzie, she’s going to-"_  Barton cut off as the girls leapt out of Coulson’s arms and was already by the nurse’s side waiting patiently.

“Guess this part is familiar territory,” he offered but no one responded. “Barton go with them, they might decide to talk.” The man nodded and followed the pair down the hall.

Despite this being SHIELD, or perhaps because this was SHIELD, there was magically child sized med equipment for the kids to be checked out. The small redheads looked perfectly at ease, sitting patiently as the nurse-Mackenzie- stuck the needle into the inside of one of their elbows to draw blood. Dental x-rays had confirmed them at about four years old. They’d cleaned their faces of the dirt and now the freckles stood out against their light skin--they clearly hadn’t been outside that building much, if at all. There were only faint scratches on one of their cheeks, just first few layers of skin, that were too far healed to be from their infiltration.

“What’s your name, Sweetheart?” Mackenzie was nice, but there was no way the girl would just-

“Valeriya.”

The nurse blinked in surprise. Clint frowned. _Valeriya…Meaning strength_.

Mackenzie looked at the other girl, the one in green. “What about you, what’s your name?”

“Sofya.” Clint’s frown deepened. _Sofya, meaning wisdom. Strength and Wisdom._

“Valeriya, Sofya?” The girls turned immediately, curiosity all over their faces. “ _Do you have parents?_ ” They gave a blank stare. “ _Did you ever go anywhere other than that building?_ ” Another head shake as they removed the needle and bandaged it up.

Mackenzie smiled at her patients. “Okay, this might be a little uncomfortable but I need to do a physical exam make sure you’re not hurt.” One girl--Valeriya--didn’t respond beyond looking to Clint in confusion. He’d been sent as a translator. Normally that would bother him but the kids were too… blindly obedient than anyone at that age should be. _The beginnings of the perfect soldier_ , he thought

As the agent explained, and understanding hit the children, they undid the few buttons at the neckline of their nightgowns and slid the garment over their heads before folding it neatly. Clint let out a small hiss of anger at the raised purple and red bruising across Valeriya’s left side, matching splotchy bruises on her knees. Mackenzie simply froze for a moment in shock. The patterns were congruent with being pinned under heavy objects--for instance, a collapsed building--but there was no way that a _four year old_ wasn’t in serious pain from that. Sofya had minor bruises and cuts but nothing like her sister’s injuries.

“Where does it hurt?” the nurse managed at last. He translated.

“ _It doesn’t. It’s colorful, I’m okay though._ ” She looked at the adults curiously.

Mackenzie made a few calls and within minutes Clint had to explain to the girls that the doctors wanted to do some more tests, starting with x-rays. _Why_ had been their only question and the answer of making sure she wasn’t hurt seemed to confuse her.

* * *

 

Clint frowned at the monitor as the girls suddenly sat upright in bed with a unison scream. It was just past 0330 hours, even with time zones and jet lag they should still be asleep. They weren’t crying, didn’t seem scared. Sofya rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and blinked hard in a failed attempt to keep tears at bay. Valeriya was sitting beside her, head on Sofya’s shoulder. The agent on duty and Agent Baron shared a look and he was surprised to find both girls blinking up in the direction of the security cameras. They looked too much like prisoners in that moment that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

“They’re just sitting there…” The pair looked at the monitor as Clint debated what to do.

“It’s alright,” he told the other man, and unlocked the door. As Clint stepped inside the kids jumped a little. “ _Are you okay?_ ”

A small nod from Sofya. “ _We’re the only ones you brought here._ ”

“ _We’re not going back, are we…_ ” Valeriya stared at the floor, a tangle of red hair blocking her face.

Clint crossed to the bed, kneeling in front of them. “ _Probably not, unless we can find your family. Do you want to go back?_ ” A pair of weak shrugs. “ _You don’t have to worry, you know. We’ll make sure you’re somewhere safe._ ”

He was met with silence. No last name, no real identity, and now belonging nowhere. It was hard to understand. “ _A family that’ll give you care and a home._ ”

“ _What will SHIELD do with us?_ ” There was fear in the children’s tearful eyes for the first time.

He stood. “ _Nothing bad, I swear it._ ” He sat on the edge of the bed. Neither said anything until the quiet was broken by a sob followed shortly by a small yawn. “ _Lay down, Valeriya, Sofya._ ” Obedient as ever they did as told, one hand tucked neatly under chins in a little balled fist. They blinked hard to stay awake and Clint pulled the blankets over them, once again struck by how tiny they were. “ _We’ll figure it all out in the morning._ ” It was unclear if the kids heard or not since when he looked back at them they were already asleep. He sat with the girls a minute longer before retreating.

The other man met him at the door. “What’d they ask? Why you?”

“They’re curious what will happen to them now that they have nowhere familiar to go.” Agent Barton did sigh then. “I think they just want to talk to someone fluent in their language.” They stood in the hall unsure how to proceed. “I want to take them to Fury.” The man raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It would come to that eventually regardless.

Coulson stood with Barton--who’d just come straight from target practice and was still armed--on the outside of the glass. The girls were on the other side sitting at a table with a translator and a psychiatrist. They clearly knew they were being observed and weren’t saying much. Either they didn’t know or they didn’t trust them enough to share. His money was on the former.

They had Sofya drawing the people she interacted with the most before in crayons. Supposedly the shapes and colors would be telling about how she was treated. Valeriya was working on a set of identical redheaded little stick girls when Dr. MacDonald approached the two men. Lori MacDonald had been brought in specifically to work with their guests. “What’d you find out?”

The doctor cleared her throat. “Um, right. Well they both seem perfectly healthy. No infections, no hereditary conditions as far as we can tell- That’s not to say we didn’t find nothing interesting.” She thumbed through her overflowing clipboard. “The girls’ blood showed anomalies in several ways, but really its remarkably similar to, um, Captain America…” The doctor trailed off as the two agents stared her down.

Coulson knocked twice on the glass, signaling to bring the girls with them. At the moment he didn’t care what it was interrupting. “Has the DNA been run?”

“I- I think so, Sir. That’s not really my field.”

The three collected the girls at the door where they promptly left plenty of space between themselves and the archer. He frowned as the girls latched their small hands to Coulson’s and walked with his handler. “They hate me,” he grumbled.

Coulson smiled just a bit. “Well you did have an arrow trained on Valeriya after a building fell on her. You’re probably not her favorite person.”

“She kicked me! Hard! I have bruises, Phil. From a four year old.”

They looked at the girls as they scurried alongside Coulson. Someone- probably Coulson- had thought to send someone for clothes. Whomever they’d given the task must have had some fun with it because the white sweaters, dark green corduroy skirts, and purple tights that didn’t match the bright green little frog rain boots they’d brought. The girls certainly didn’t look like they belonged in a research lab; they looked like they should be starting preschool.

“We’ll get some answers now, Clint. The worst bruise is just to your ego. _Valeriya, Sofya, wait here, okay?_ ” They nodded, climbing on to the bench in the hall to sit patiently.

Rather unceremoniously Barton dumped his gear on a table. “You ran it?”

The lab tech nodded. “Yeah, got them right… here.” He dug the file out and flipped through it. “Oh, it looks like we got hits on just the paternal DNA. That can’t be right…” He looked from the paper to the agents and back to the paper.

“Care to elaborate on that, buddy?” Clint crossed his arms.

The man looked vaguely terrified. “It’s in the database, but not active. Not since the Second World War. One… Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes?”

Coulson was first to recover, if not in the way expected. “Like, Bucky? Captain America’s _best friend?_ He’s been dead since ’45.”

“What’s this last page?” Clint asked.

The tech made a slightly pained face. “The next oddity in apparently a very long string of them. They’re superhuman. Not like comic book style, more like Captain America. It’s a modified formula, I’d need to run more tests but basically they’re gonna be badass when they grow up.”

Coulson opened his mouth, not entirely sure what to say. “Shouldn’t-“

A small surprised yelp cut him off.

Clint was first in the hall, followed by Coulson and the tech. The latter two just stared.

The miniature supersoldiers sat on the bench where they’d left them. Sofya was crying softly, one of Clint’s knives on the ground, and blood now covered one of Valeriya’s small hands. She looked up at them hesitantly, obviously used to harsh punishments for disobeying orders. “ _I didn’t mean to.._ ” she said at last, biting her lip.

“ _It’s okay, come on. We’re gonna get that fixed up now._ ” Without waiting for response, Clint scooped up the toddler, Sofya keeping pace beside him, and took off towards medical.

 

Nurse Mackenzie gave Clint a hard glare. “Agent Barton, I understand that you’re not on a mission currently, but my time is still valuable. Next time you want to play some sick prank, waste someone else’s time.” The woman smiled at Valeriya, glared at Clint a second longer, and stalked off to her next patient.

Clint just stared after her until Valeriya and Sofya tugged at his hand. The touch startled him, they’d been so quiet. “ _Hey Kid, how’s the hand?_ ” Valeriya held her right hand out for him to inspect and his brow furrowed in confusion. The two inch cut on the back of her hand that should have required stitches looked two days old at least. Mackenzie had simply cleaned it and put a bandage over it, which would explain her irritation at his pointless panic. _Similar to Captain America, supersoldier_ … He stared at the girl but she wasn’t looking at him. The twins were looking curiously at a doctor on their break with a bag of licorice.

“ _What is it?_ ” one of them finally asked.

“ _The candy? Its licorice. There’s red and black._ ”

“ _Licorice?_ ”

He tried not to think about the fact they had no idea what it was. “ _Maybe if you ask real nice the nice doctor will let you try some._ ” Sofya’s eyes went wide at the idea of talking to a stranger but Valeriya gave a tiny nod. Clint approached the man, Lera and Sofya hanging on his coat, and attempted to introduce the girls until they hid behind him. Clint held in an exasperated sigh. “Anyway, we’ve just been exploring and-“

“And she’s eyeing the licorice like a hungry tiger.” The man smiled, holding the package out.

Lera glanced up at Clint unsure. “ _It’s alright, you can have one._ ”

One tiny hand grabbed a black piece and quickly retreated, and the girls just examined it for a full minute before tearing off a small bite each. They chewed slowly before swallowing and taking another, considerably larger, bite.

“ _Good?_ ” He was rewarded with a small toothless smiles from th girls. The doctor’s pager beeped and he stood to go. “ _Tell the doctor thank you._ ”

“ _Spacibo’._ ” They managed to mumble in unison through a mouthful of candy. He smiled, handed Sofya the rest of the package, pat Lera’s head, and left.

* * *

 

Returning to Coulson’s office Clint came face to face with Secretary Alexander Pierce. They just stared at each other for a moment before Coulson spoke up. “Oh, Barton, good. Pierce is here about our guests.”

The blonde man cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s right. Another human 0-8-4?”

Without thinking Clint tensed up, accidentally squeezing Valeriya’s hand, causing Sofya to yelp quietly and all sets of eyes turned towards them.

The Director’s eyes widened just slightly. “They’re…”

“…just little girls,” Coulson finished. “We were just as surprised. They don’t speak any English, just Russian that we know of. We’ve run DNA already as well as descriptions against missing persons in the areas surrounding where we found them.”

Pierce didn’t look at Coulson. He knelt down to the girls’ level and they stared at him with wide eyes. “Any hits?”

“Well, yes, but we’re not sure what to make of them.”

“ _What’re your names?_ ” the Secretary asked.

Both stood a tiny bit straighter, no longer munching on a piece of licorice. “Valeriya.” “Sofya.”

“ _How old are you?_ ” They gave a little shrug. He nodded and addressed Coulson again. “What’s strange about them? Did you find the parents or not?”

The smaller man handed over the papers. “We got a match for the father, Sergeant Barnes of the 107th. He died in the second World War.”

Pierce read the documents through twice. “This second page, is it accurate?”

“We have no way of being certain, Sir.”

He handed the file back to Coulson. “If he’s dead, how can he have a four year old?” No one answered, no one had answers. The girls were still watching Pierce with a look somewhere between confusion and reluctance. They hadn’t let go of Clint’s hand but looked like they very much wished to be elsewhere. “We need to evaluate their abilities. If the DNA is accurate then it’s likely they’re already used to being tested for various reasons. What have you planned to do with them so far? Surely not the Fridge.”

“Of course not. They spent the night in interrogation rooms, for lack of better accommodations.” All eyes were locked on the little girls again as they let go of the agent’s hand and darted to the window, watching agents go about their business in the hall. “We haven’t discussed what to do for the long-“

“I’ll take them,” Clint blurted out. His handler and Pierce gave him a look. “I’m the one that found them, they trust me, mostly, and I have an extra room.” Both girls turned towards the adults at the change in their tones, but stayed silent.

“Agent Barton, we don’t know anything about them. Don’t rush into something like this.”

“Even if they are an experiment, they’re still kids. We can’t put them in the Fridge or the Sandbox and keep treating them like a science project. Some woman is still out there looking for their daughters.”

Pierce gave him a hard look. “No one’s talking about putting them away, Agent Barton. But until we have a better grasp of what they can do-"

“Valeriya, Sofya, _come here,_ ” Clint called to them and they did as told. Both hovered at the edge of Coulson’s desk as they picked up on the tension. “I’m going to take them with me for now, until we figure something better or find their family.” He bent down and picked the girls up. Holding onto them, he shot Pierce another glare. “I’ll have my report in tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder to Coulson and didn’t wait for a response as he made his way out of the office.


	4. Grandma Carter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief story time with some war vets, as well as some weird foreshadowing

Serra’s POV

 

“....That can't be it. You left out a whole thirteen years! And what about the fact that Sofya-”

“We’re here.”

I looked out the window, and sure enough, we were pulling into the parking lot of the facility my great-grandmother was staying in. As far as nursing homes go, it wasn't a bad place to spend the last few months or years of your life. Friendly staff, several pathways winding around the facility with plenty of benches lining it, good facilities indoors, and overall a pleasant atmosphere. For a bunch of dying people, anyways.

“You’re going to finish telling me the rest of that story,” I asked as he pulled into an open slot in the parking lot. “Right?”

“We’ll see.” He opened his door and climbed out. A few seconds later, and after some cursing at various gods and other deities and figureheads, he came around to my side of the car with the wheelchair. “It’s not really my story to tell, anyways. Need a hand getting out?”

“I got this,” I grumbled as I pushed myself out of the seat with my good hand.

Then nearly fell out of the car. And it was probably my imagination, but I could have sworn I heard my uncle mutter “Goddammit, Barton” as he caught me.

Once I’d gotten situated in the wheelchair, and with only a little help from my uncle (okay, a lot of help), we made our way through the front entrance and into the building. The receptionist on duty, a guy by the name of Matthew, nodded at us in recognition as Clint signed us in, then did a double take when he saw the state I was in.

“Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay?”

“What, this?” I raised my right arm and waved it around a bit. “It’s nothing. Work accident.” I winced as I set it back down on the armrest.

“Some accident,” he remarked. “I thought you worked I.T.”

“Uh, yeah, well-”

“A stack of computer towers fell on her while she was working on one of them,” Clint supplied. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Banged her up pretty bad. It's really a wonder they discharged her so _quickly_.” He gave me a pointed stare. “Anyways, we should get going. Is she awake?”

“Actually, yeah, and pretty coherent too.” I looked up hopefully at Clint. “Maggy went to check on her when some guy came in to see her about fifteen minutes ago. Maggy swears she almost got out of bed on her own right there and then. Must be quite the guy.”

That was odd. “Wait. What guy? Hardly anyone outside the family visits her, unless they're super old..” _Or with S.H.I.E.L.D...._

Matthew shrugged. “All I know is his name is Steve and that he’s really, really muscular and really, really good-looking.” He got a far-off look in his eyes. “Would love to spend a few minutes alone with him, if you know what I mean.”

I made a face. “Not really.”

Clint spoke up. “Wait. This Steve guy...did he have bright blue eyes? Like the bluest sky you've ever seen?”

Matthew looked at Clint in a weird way. “I’d say they're more like a clear sky as the sun is rising, but, yeah. How do you know?”

Clint turned away and started to wheel me down the hall. “I think I know who's there.”

“Wait, who? Clint? Who's visiting her?”

He didn’t respond, but when I craned my neck back to look at him, he was smiling, leaving me to wonder who the hell we were going to see when he wheeled me into my great grandmother’s room. There were only a few people in S.H.I.E.L.D. named Steve (believe me, I know. I was really bored one day and decided to do a random database search. Turns out there are about 78 women named some variation of Katherine in the American bases alone), and to my knowledge, none of them were the kind of agents that Clint would interact with.

A few people recognized us as we made our way down the hallway, and most of them tried to stop us and ask what happened to me. Clint just kept pushing me onwards, tossing a quick “work accident” over his shoulder as we passed. I was too deep in thought to really notice much, so when we arrived at my great-grandmother's room, it felt like no time had passed between the conversation with Matthew and now.

And it was then that I met the mysterious ‘Steve’.

Matthew was right; he was incredibly good-looking. And that's me saying that. He was sitting on the opposite side of Peggy's bed, his back to the window, allowing me a great view of his face and chest. And man, what a guy. His pecs were huge, probably even bigger than my boobs, and his shoulders were so broad I could probably lay across them and barely have my legs dangle off. Not that I wanted to lay on his shoulders or, anything. And his eyes... They defied description. Words wouldn't do them justice.

If there was such a thing as turning me straight, this was the only man that could do it.

Our entrance certainly didn’t go unnoticed, as the both of them stopped whatever conversation they had been having. And, for the first time, Peggy wasn’t the one who was confused at my sight.

“Oh, Serra, I was wondering when you'd show up.”

My mouth tried to form words that my brain couldn’t come up with, as it was still struggling to comprehend the first time she’d gotten my name right without having to be corrected. In fact, I think we were all pretty in shock. Steve was staring at me like he'd seen a ghost, and Clint hadn’t said a single thing yet.

“Peggs, who is this?”

“Oh, Steve, don’t you remember? That lovely night in that little village in the Alps?”

Steve seemed to only grow more confused, then widened his eyes in dawning comprehension. “Wait....You can't mean...” He looked over at Peggy. “The blonde gal and her redhead, uh, pal?” He looked back over at me. “But she was bigger, wasn’t she? Are you sure it isn’t-”

Peggy was off in another world. “I remember she got along famously with Bucky...” She trailed off and looked sadly at Steve, who had gone still. “I am truly sorry for what happened.”

“It’s...it’s alright. Still feels like last week.”

Realization hit me in the face like a brick then. “Wait. Steve? Are you, by any chance, Steve Rogers?”

He snorted and gave me a half smile. “The one and only.”

The noise I made then was not human.

“She’s a really big fan,” Clint explained to a bewildered and slightly terrified-looking Captain America.

“Yeah, her and everyone else after New York.”

Peggy brightened up a little. “Oh, what happened in New York?”

That got my attention away from my one true idol. “Wait, New York? Is that what you were talking about earlier, Clint?”

Steve looked up at Clint, who sighed and said, “You tell it. They both want to hear you talk, anyways.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Besides, I’ve got a few errands to run. Is it alright if I leave her here for an hour or so?”

“Oh, but of course!” Peggy replied. “There's so much to catch up on since I last saw her! And I’m sure you’d love to talk to Steve again.”

That caught me a bit off guard, but then again, so did most of what she said these days. “Um, uh, I mean, yeah, def- I’d definitely lo- really like to talk to Ca- uh, Steve. Yeah. That sounds great.”

That got a chuckle out of Steve, who nodded at Clint, and without another word, my uncle left, leaving me and my grandmother alone with Captain fucking America.

“So,” he started, leaning his elbows on his knees and glancing at me, “where should we start?”

 

* * *

 

I’d seen every single Captain America movie ever made. Not that all of them were good (looking at you, ‘70s remake), but they were all memorable, and I owned every single one. The original propaganda films from the '40s were, in my honest opinion, probably the best films ever made about him, as, while still fictional, they did highlight some of his adventures with the Howling Commandos. In fact, many of those adventures were referenced in various S.H.I.E.L.D. files, including some of the instruction material covered at Communications Academy (and, I’d assume, the other academies as well). His moral compass, his skill as a field operative, his strategic thinking....he was everything I looked up to, everything I aspired to be as a person and as an agent, and had ever since I was born.

And all I learned that afternoon was how the man who died to save the world wished he could go back to some restaurant in the Swiss Alps and sweep my grandmother off her feet like he’d promised.

“Learn anything neat about your hero today?” Clint asked as we drove out of the parking lot.

“He seems to like dancing. And Switzerland.”

“Huh.” was all he had to say.

We drove in silence for a stretch. I suddenly realized just how tired I was; I’d barely talked, and I certainly hadn’t done anything strenuous, but for some reason I was exhausted. And hungry. I didn’t think that the healing process would be this draining, but then again, my hand and foot had both been practically obliterated. _I should probably take pain meds soon_ , I thought, then realized—

“Do pain meds work on Valeriya?”

Clint sucked air through his teeth.

“...They don’t affect her, do they.”

“SHIELD has spent...many years trying to find drugs that would work on her. When she was a kid, it was different; just give her a ton of morphine and hope it's enough. But the last time that was effective was when she was about seven. She has remarkable healing, probably better than even Captain America, but she still feels pain.” Clint sucked in a shaky breath.

“Have you heard anything about her yet?”

Clint gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Word came in earlier, while you were with Peggy and Cap.” He paused for a moment. “She...” He took a shuddering breath. “She’s alive. And that’s all that matters.”


	5. Welcome Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lera is awake. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Two updates in one month! We're finally on a roll!

I could feel myself somewhere between cold and numb once I fought past the pain. Waking up with a tube down my throat means forcing fight instincts down to stay calm. Breathing was too difficult to be able to talk even if the tube was removed. As much as I was dreading it, it was time to open my eyes. It was harsh and I had to close them again almost instantly. Moving almost anything was going to be almost impossible. Nurses would be in any minute since no doubt no matter who had me now I'd be very closely watched.

That had to be my next focus. Where was I now? Some rapid blinking to adjust to the harsh white lights and I could take in my surroundings. White walls, faded pale sheets, bare shelves, a computer in the corner, a window with blinds drawn tight, IVs and other medical equipment with tubes and wires running to and from me. If I was able I'd've scowled. Nothing to immediately signify if I'd been rescued or not. _Rescued_ . It sounds strange to think of the one being rescued. _I_ was the one they sent for rescues like the one they would have needed. The shiver sent through me by the memories sent a rattle of sharp pain down my body.

The door opened and a tall, clean cut nurse came in. The black hair and genuine smile were unfamiliar. "Miss Romanov!" Russian; that could go either way. Why was his voice so soft? "Welcome back, we're glad you're back with us finally." I could barely focus on his words, I was already exhausted again. He was fiddling with one of the machines. My head was pounding. I couldn't feel anything below my left knee. Movement in the doorway sent my instincts on fire. I had to get out, had to fight, had to do _anything..._

* * *

 Waking up with pain as the only sensation I can register now is at the top of my list. It finally beat out Barton chewing with her mouth open on comms. The tube was gone. I could mostly breathe on my own now but there were still oxygen tubes bridging my face. The lights in this room were dimmed almost completely, the blinds cracked but the sky dark. It took me a few seconds to place the figure staring into the darkened city beyond the room as my mother. Opening my mouth the only sound that came out was a crackled whisper. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. How long ago did we ship out? I wanted to ask but ended up in a coughing fit.

"Lera." Her voice was soft and relieved but fearful. She sat on the edge of my bed carefully. "Oh Lera," she breathed almost in tears- again it looked like. Breathing rattled my whole chest and my head felt like it was going to split. I was too focused on managing pain to try and talk. Natasha smiled but looked pained. "You're safe now _Lischiska_ , it's all going to be okay." there was no reply to that, not that tone. It was never followed by something good. I just stared hard at a spot on the wall to keep the pain at bay. She swallowed hard. "There's extensive damage to your throat, ribs and lungs, don't try to talk just yet." She dug around in a bag and pulled out a tablet, sliding it into my lap. “They… They found all the needles, you should be able to type.”

I stared at her blankly for a moment. I couldn’t decide which question to find first through all my racing thoughts. I forced my fingers to open a blank document and typed, <How long?>

“It’s been four days. Two in Moscow, one in Sweden, one here. It’s about 1900 hours now.”

<It’s cold.>

Nat nodded distractedly. “Clint is going to bring some of your things by soon. You’re going to be here for a while… Is there anything specific you want him to bring?”

I didn’t even try to nod, just tried to focus on typing. <The tags.>

My mother smiled. “They’re right here, baby.” She reached into her sweater pocket and the soft clanking of the metal tags seemed muted as she handed them over. I smiled and felt it tug at a cut along the side of my mouth. I ignored it.

Running my newly scarred finger tips across the grooves, tracing the letters stamped into the metal, it was still cold to the touch. I blinked hard. <There was someone else there. Did you find him?>

“May killed several when she got you out. That’s seven total in addition to the four you got.”

<No, there was someone else there. He didn’t talk. Tall.> It was harder than I thought to focus on typing while ignoring all the pain. I blinked hard to try and stay awake.

Nat looked even more troubled than she had when I first woke up. “What was he like, Lera?” I wanted to tell her, to describe him, but I was so tired… “Lera? Lera, honey, this is important. What did he look like?”

<Metal arm>, I barely managed to pick out on the touch screen keyboard. I couldn’t even keep my eyes open to register her reaction, but I thought I heard her gasp.

* * *

It wasn’t as cold as before when I came to again. It didn’t take long to notice why. Clint had arrived and brought with him at least two bags of stuff. One was partially empty and I guess it had previously contained the familiar blanket covering my hospital bed. The faded blue and purple cupcake patterned blanket was a welcome sight. While keeping me warm it had the added bonus of smelling like Clint’s apartment- like home.

“Hey, Ghost.” Clint was standing by the door, looking to have just returned. He was smiling at me but it wasn’t hard to tell whatever conversation he’d just been having hadn’t been pleasant. “You missed quite a lot here, you won’t believe it when you hear.” He walked back to the chair my mother had been in earlier. How long ago had that been? “Natasha just stepped out to talk to the doctors, she’ll be back in a bit. She’s been here almost two days, I can’t get her to go home yet. She’s worried; we all are.” They’d taken the tablet away while I’d slept, so I had no real way to answer anything my dad was saying. I just kinda stared at him, still in too much pain to really attempt anything.Clint let out a deep sigh as he sat back in the chair. I didn’t normally notice but he looked older, more drained.

“Everyone’s looking into how this happened, Nat was on the phone with Fury earlier so I guess she has a lead. She’s been in a frenzy about it the last few hours while you were out.” I blinked twice at him but didn’t have any real energy to put more effort forth. Who knew a near brutal end would make you so tired? Clint seemed to notice I was drifting out again and sat on the edge of my bed very carefully. “Oh, Ghost, I wish there was more I could do…” I gave a weak smile; _me too…_

It seemed like a blink but I must have momentarily dozed off again since the weight shift as Clint stood jolted me to attention. “Everyone’s glad you’re safe, Lera, and people want to know you’re okay. Fury said he’ll be by tomorrow and Serra’s anxious to see you, too. Not without your say so though, of course.” He was digging in one of the bags as he spoke and was smiling again as he turned back to face me. I smiled back at the small stuffed bunny in his hands. Well, it _used_ to be a bunny. Lovingly nicknamed “Frankenbun”, the stuffed bunny I’d received as a child had seen its own fair share of battle injuries and been clumsily sewn back together more times than worth counting. Clint set her on the bed beside me and looped the dog tags around her neck for safekeeping. “Alright, I’ll let you get some sleep. Your mom and I are just a call button away if you need anything.” He bent and ever so gently kissed my forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ghost.”


	6. Two Hundred and Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not being able to be affected by pain medication is taking it's toll on Lera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting going with this story again :) we're hopefully gonna be updating more often now that we're writing ahead. As always, feedback is always appreciated :D

Lera's POV

 

Morning was a whirlwind of doctors and nurses coming and going and measuring something or other. I was in and out of consciousness often since there was no other way to manage the pain. I’d tried to list my injuries or sneak a look at my chart but the nurses kept the clipboard pretty heavily guarded. I’d gotten a run down of it all but it was full of too many large medical words for my concussed brain to follow, especially in English.

Clint was writing something in a chair beside me, going over the injuries again in plain Russian slowly so my fractured skull could keep up. “Aside from the fractured cheekbone and bruising on your throat, there’s the damage to your ribs and lungs.”

I tapped on the tablet again. <How bad?> His blue eyes flicked towards me and then back to his work. He didn’t speak. <What else? Why can’t I walk?> The electronic voice of the tablet sounded tinny in the still air as it read aloud the words I typed. Then with a second of reflection on the mission I added: <What was the damage to my knee?>

He let out a short sigh. “They missed the knee cap, you shouldn’t have too much an issue healing from that one. Once your ankle heals you’ll be up in no time and into PT.” He gave me a slight smile that I tried to return. “Of course, they can’t start that until your stitches come out.”

I could barely make out voices down the hall, trying to turn my head to listen with no luck. <Why aren’t our earbuds waterproof?>

My father gave a tight lipped smile. “They are. They aren’t made to withstand electrocution however.” I glared sullenly at the tablet screen. “Don’t worry Ghost, they don’t think it’ll last.”

I sighed, the sleepy fog was settling back in through the pain. <Uh huh…> Clint looked up from whatever he was writing. “Get some rest, we’ll talk more later.”

* * *

_The only sound in the halls was the man’s boots though my own footfalls were silent. Somewhere in my mind I could hear Sofya and the doctor from the lower levels where we were headed. All the corridors were empty, doors all shut; just solid grey walls leading forwards. Though I knew the route on my own we were never without an armed escort. There were six this time, down from eight last week._

_“Keep pace, Valeriya.” I picked up my pace to not fall behind. Lieutenant didn’t like to be kept waiting, not since I could hear a commotion the next floor down._

_Normally commotions ended quickly; shouting and gunfire then silence. Not this time though, even as we neared the elevators there was shouting and the stomping of boots headed in our direction. Two groups of six and a captain ran past, a second captain stopping to speak with the lieutenant. They spoke quickly and the look they passed among them looked concerned. The captain had a bruise forming on one cheek._

Valeriya what’s going on? _Sofya wondering about our delay. I wanted to fill her in but I didn’t have an idea myself._

I’ll be there soon. _As soon as I’d thought it I sensed her nod. All the soldiers gazes were fixed on me. Whatever was going on I clearly wouldn't be going along._

_“Valeriya, come on.” Lieutenant opened the door to the stairwell and pulled me through. “Soldier Red,_ **_Stay_ ** _.” He turned and left._

_I stared at the wall across from where I stood, counting the stones. Sofya was asleep so they could make her better again. I could still hear the stomping boots but I didn't try and listen._

_Two hundred and three, two hundred and four, two hundred and five, two hundred and-_

_The door was thrown open, hanging partially off its hinges and dented in the middle. I didn't even blink as more men were running through and then down the steps. Aside from the heavy footfalls there was no sound._

_Two hundred and six, two hundred and seven, two hundred and eight-_

_A squad like the one normally assigned to me marched passed swiftly but didn't spare me a glance as they led their charge down the stairs. Their charge_ did _look at me though. I'd never seen him before and it was pretty apparent he'd never seen me either. Tall with dark hair falling in his face it was hard to say if surprise was his reaction but his blue eyes certainly held confusion. His clothes weren't dissimilar to mine and Sofya's but where we had a regular black sleeve the man’s whole arm was a shiny and reflective silver. Our eyes met for a moment and then he was led away._

_Two hundred and nine…_

* * *

I gasped as I woke up- or tried to. I ended up coughing and gasping for breath that set my lungs and ribs on fire. Clint was by my side immediately and hitting the call nurse button.

“Shh, Lera, it's okay.” He brushed a stray wisp of hair from my face in an attempt to calm me. I shook my head, ignoring the pain from my fingers as I stuttered through signing ‘no’ repeatedly. He just looked at me with concern, glancing towards the door.

“G-get… Nat…” I whispered.


	7. An Unexpected Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing~~~

Lera's POV

 

“No Mom, I swear it's true. I'd seen him before!”

“I believe you, honey. If you keep talking too much you'll strain yourself.” Despite saying that she believed my hazy memory, Natasha looked troubled. It was the type of Natasha look that let you know you'd never know what she was thinking unless she wanted you to and right now she was certainly not going to tell me.

“When can I talk normally again?” She was right, of course. As it was my voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“The bruising is going down. A day or two probably. We can ask the nurse in a little bit if you want.” I watched her dig in her bag and pull out a couple balls of yarn. “Lila wanted matching scarves for her and her elephant.” I smiled

“Do I get one?” My mother just smiled and began to knit. I'd never had the patience for it, I always had to be moving.

“You really don't have anything to say about what happened?”

She sighed. “Lera, I'm not sure right now. They're looking for something most of the intelligence community thinks is a myth.” I frowned. That was never a good sign…

“But you-” A coughing fit took over. I could feel my ribs pressing into my lungs. I briefly wondered if I'd start coughing up blood. I reached for the tablet rather than risk talking more.<But you'll look into it?>

“Of course I will.”

There was a knock at the door and a second later it opened slowly. Nat stood, looking serious. “Secretary Pierce. Can I help you?”

Confusion must have been all over my face because Pierce just smiled a little. “No, no, please Natasha.” He closed the door behind him as my mother slowly sat again. She didn't resume knitting though.

“Just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing, Valeriya. I'm so sorry it turned out this way.” I just nodded a little. _So am I…_ “Anyway, as I was talking to one of the doctors they said your fingers were all healed up and you were getting a little twitchy. It'll be a while before you'll be up and about again, so I thought I'd bring something to help.” He dug in his pocket a second and pulled out a familiar object.

I grinned. “Where'd you find it?!”

Pierce handed my knife back to me carefully. “You left it in my office last month.”

The metal was still cool. He was right, I'd be here a while even with faster healing. My shoulders were healing, at least the left was, and since all the needles had been removed before I was conscious again my fingers had all healed. It was enough to twirl something to get a little restless energy out.

The door opened again, this time just a nurse. She looked from Natasha to Pierce to me. “Excuse me but do you really think a _butterfly knife_ is the best 'get well soon' present? This is a hospital!”

I smiled just a little. “That'll be convenient if I get cut, then.” My mother rolled her eyes ever so slightly but was amused. I had to be feeling better if I was back to sassing the undeserving. Piece was smiling, even my mother looked amused. The nurse most certainly was _not_.

“I don't want to keep you from rest, so I'll get going. Feel better, Lera.” I nodded, already spinning the familiar weapon in little circles. “Natasha.” He nodded goodbye to my mother and slipped out the door.

Nat picked the mass of yarn back up. “Well that was… unexpected.”

I attempted to shrug. “I thought it was nice of him.” I’d known Pierce longer than my own mother, odd as it sounded. He was in some of my earliest memories while I was almost seven by the time I met Natasha.

“It was,” she said at last. I yawned. “Here, Lera, give me that for now. You can have it back when you wake up.” I certainly wasn't going to argue; sleep sounded wonderful at the moment.

* * *

I barely heard the door open, and tensing out of surprise from waking up made the pain momentarily skyrocket. When I actually turned to look though I managed a smile. 

<Uncle Director Sir!>

Fury didn't smile, per say, but he wasn't hiding it either. “Romanov.” He shut the door behind him and stood beside the bed. “Glad you're back with us.” I managed a tiny nod. “Your mother's barely left this room since you got here.” He and Nat shared a quick look.  _ More secrets. _

<Something tells me this isn't a social call.>

He shook his head. “Not this time. We're all relieved you're back in… mostly one piece, of course. But it's been almost a week and we need to go over what happened with you. You are after all the only one who's alive to tell us.” 

“She can't talk-”

“I know, Romanov. She can type it just fine, right?” My mother glared at Fury who pretended not to notice. He was watching my reaction. I nodded slightly. Debriefing was one of those sooner the better parts of being an agent. 

<Where to start, Sir?>

He took a seat and pulled out his own tablet. “The beginning. From landing and integrating into Markov’s operation.” I sighed, it would be a long day then. “You just say what happened, I'll do the actual report.” I blinked at him in surprise. I  _ always  _ wrote my own reports, even back when I barely spoke English. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Problem, Romanov?” I shook my head. “Good. Then, Moscow with Markov’s girls.” 

 

 


	8. Operation Red Moon - Part 1

Lera's POV

 

Operation: Red Moon

Agent Valeriya Romanov

Alias: Vasilisa Dmitrievna Alkaeva

 

I was with six other women all of varying ages in the changing room, large mirrors lined by bright lights with the curtains opened to the setting sun.

“Hold still, dammit! If you keep fidgeting the braids aren't going to be even you know.” I sighed and tried to sit still. Dima held my head hostage as she worked her magic to turn my tangled waist length hair into something presentable for the gala. They'd already spent almost an hour curling it all and now to get it to lay just so it required braids and pins and too much hair spray.

“Here,” Viktoria held out a box of cigarettes. I gave her a questioning glance but took one. “They help with the nerves.” I held it between glittering polished nails as she lit it for me. They tasted awful and I'd be able to smell the lingering fumes for hours to come but I smiled at her and took a long drag. I exhaled towards the open window through the pearly pink lipstick that plastered my lips. “This is your first ‘official’ function right?”

“Yeah. Not sure why they're sending _me_ though.” _Because SHIELD pulled too many strings,_ I thought bitterly. I felt like some Barbie I never played with as a child.

Dima smiled. “You're too lovely to pass up, is all. Men like the newest toys the best.” She lit her own cigarette.

The cool outside air was nice against my bare skin. The thin slip was temporary till I put on my actual dress for the event. I tried not to shudder at the thought of having to wear the sheer, gauzy gown. Expensive, yes. Practical for a mission, no.

I watched the other women go through their pre-event rituals. No one was drinking heavily though Katya was politely sipping at something or other. She was almost thirty and had a daughter at home with her mother. Last minute make up touches, adjusting jewelry, slipping into heels. There was a knock on the door and a ten minute warning. I exhaled another puff of smoke.

SHIELD missions were a funny thing. I was allowed and often encouraged to do things that would never be acceptable for me at home. The most glaring example was smoking, obviously, though there was no clear science behind its carcinogenic effects on my body. Drinking was on the list, as was killing, and- if Clint had his way- flirting. So far this cover had me doing nothing _but_ flirting. Being a whore sucked big time.

Dima released my head from her demon-like grip. “There, finished. Get dressed, Alkaeva.” I could feel her glare at the back of my head. I'd taken over her position as favorite in the short week I'd been in town.

I sighed, stamped out my cigarette, and stood. My dress was hanging with Oskana’s on the wall opposite the windows. I glare at it a second before slipping into it. Katya laced up the back and smiled slightly. She was still smiling at me as I slid my pedicured feet into the tall strappy stiletto heels. “What is it?”

“You look like someone I used to know is all…”

“Five minutes!” came the voice behind the door. It was Yuri, under strict orders to not enter unless an emergency arose. He was one of ours and I'd spent most of the last week with him integrating into Markov’s organization.

The panic building up in my chest was a new feeling. I hadn't been nervous before a mission in years, not really. I'd been on solo missions the last two years without any fuss. _It's nothing we haven't seen before, Romanov, calm down._ I sighed and stood in front of the mirror for a quick check. The ruby necklace, a birthday present from my mother with matching earrings, sat delicately around my neck, as a perfect accent to all the purple and silver. I exhaled in a measured breath. _Just keep them distracted. Serra’s just got to get the data and we can go. No more ridiculous dresses or flirting._

“Vasilisa let's go!” Viktoria was smoking excitedly as she pulled me away from the mirror and out the door. “Aren't you just dying from excitement?!”

“You have no idea,” I smiled back.

* * *

The limo ride with the other girls was relatively short, just about fifteen minutes. There wasn't much talking. While we were friendly enough with each other, we were all perusing our own clients. It was awkward as both coworkers and competitors.

The car stopped. “Come on, Alkaeva. Smile.” Yuri opened the door and helped me out. He took my hand to help me out and slipped me my earbud for comms. “Be careful tonight, everyone's counting on you.” He looked me hard in the eyes and I gave the slightest of nods.

“Do try to enjoy yourself,” Viktoria called from inside the car. I smile at my companions and turned.

The door shut and Pyotr led me to the waiting limo down the block. He knocked twice and the door swung open. A man very clearly a bodyguard stepped out. His name was Luis and he worked for our target. Tall, medium build, and stronger than he looked, I smiled shyly up at him.

Luis and Pyotr spoke briefly in english- the only common language between them- and I pretended not to understand. It was the usual agreement; I was to follow orders and be well behaved and I would be paid as agreed. Pyotr reminded him I would be treated well or there would be _consequences._ They shook hands and I was let into the vehicle. Pyotr nodded at me, the door shut, and I was essentially on my own.

“Ah, Vasilisa Dmitrievna… What a pleasure to meet you, my dear!” Julian Escobar greeted me in Spanish with a wide grin. I returned the smile as I sat across from the man. I'd never met him in person before but I'd seen plenty of pictures and footage. As far as I knew, which let's be honest was probably more than my parents, Escobar hasn't actually done anything questionable. _We aren't here for him, just his boss,_ I reminded myself. The car started moving.

“The pleasures all mine, I assure you.” I smiled again, willing myself to blush blush little- it wasn't hard, all I had to do was recall some memories of training with Serra.

I could feel him appraise me but my attention was drawn away as Serra finally came onto comms. Nothing useful, as usual, just lots of questions about the mission; questions she's had six weeks to memorize. I sighed internally at Bartons useless chatter.

“We'll be there soon so I assume you've been filled in?” I nodded, crossing my legs so one foot _just_ rested against his calf.

 _< Romanov’s ETA five minutes._> May and Thomas were running comms, relaying info for Serra and I, as well as Yuri who’d be on site with us all night. _<_ _Barton is on site, entering now with Cohn. > _

Escobar was still looking me over, no doubt wondering what was under my coat. “You're new, aren't you my dear?”

I blinked twice innocently. “Yes. Well, relatively. This is my first big function. They said-”

The man chuckled. “Relax, Vasilisa, there is no need to worry so much. It will all be fine. Come, tell me about your studies.” He checked his phone and answered a few emails but soon enough was smiling back at me.

I fidgeted slightly with the hem of my coat. We’d gone over my cover a million times, I knew her whole history backwards and forwards. It was easy to be someone else when I myself didn't have a clear history. “I’m in my third year of university. I study classic literature.”

“Not one for politics then?” He was studying my carefully, phone in one hand.

I gave a tiny giggle and brushed a piece of my bangs away. “Not so much, sir, no.”

“Please, please, none of this ‘sir’ nonsense. Call me Julian, my dear.”

 _< Ew, but he's like, _old! _>  _Serra apparently never realized exactly what my role was here.

Julian slid his phone back into his inside jacket pocket. “So then, Vasilisa, what do you know of my country? Aside from the language, of course, which you speak beautifully.”

My smile then was genuine. I'd learned Spanish before english but people tended to take my language skills for granted. “I know you're in South America?”

He chuckled again. “Yes, my dear, we are. Is that all?” I nodded regretfully but sighed inwardly. _I probably know more than you do, you useless pawn._ “Well that's no worry, I doubt anyone will be asking you about such matters.”

The car rolled to a stop at the gates. Luis dealt with security and I focused on tuning out more Serra gibberish. “We’re here?” Though phrased as a question for Julian it was for Thomas’ benefit.

_< Copy that, Romanov.> _

Soon enough we were stopped at the base of the main entrance stairs. Luis opened the door and helped us out. There were plenty of other couples making their way inside, almost all of whom I recognized from the files. Oskana was at the top of the stairs with her client. She shot me a brief look that was probably meant to be ‘good luck’.  

I took Julian’s arm as he led me up the stairs and presented his invitation. They let us in and we followed the flow of foot traffic to coat check. I hesitated until Thomas basically shouted at me to ‘give up my damn coat already and be quick about it’. I smiled, undid the single button and slipped out of my coat. I ignored the stares, they'd only get worse as the night went on.

“You're more gorgeous than your profile let's on, my dear.” _At least someone is enjoying this._ I heard Serra make a gagging sound over comms.

Again I was led along until we stood at the top of a staircase. To our left was tables and seating and beyond that a bar. A balcony was to the right and ahead of us was a dance floor. Serra, mercifully, was silent as she watched me from her seat beside Dr. Cohn. Yuri was near the bar, watching the room carefully.

Julian led me along to the left, towards where the target stood with his wife and three personal guards. Right now it was mere formality as he greeted guests. In about an hour he’d be free to mingle which would be my opportunity to relieve him of his access cards and get them to Barton.

Ambassador Miguel Salvatore greeted Julian warmly- they were friends after all- and I was introduced and promptly forgotten. While my dress was meant to seduce, the ambassador barely gave me a second glance. Politically corrupt as he may be, apparently adultery was not on his list of flaws.

We left the target with a promise to catch up after all the greetings were finished. There was a string of people to greet, Dr Cohn and his ‘daughter’ among them. From the look on my partner's face as she saw us approach she had forgotten this was a possibility.  “Dr. Cohn, so glad you could make it tonight!” _Ew, we're talking in English now?_

The men shook hands with smiles. “Me, too, Julian.” Serra was still standing there looking like she'd been electrocuted. “This is my daughter, Sarah. She's hoping to go into computer science after high school.”

 _<_ Barton! _Stop staring and say something! > _Thomas was beginning to sound like he was one hesitation away from pulling his hair out. I could see Yuri’s slight smile from across the room.

“Y-yeah!” Serra finally chimed in. “Computers are my thing.” She was staring at her feet, fidgeting with her bracelet. I resisted the urge to slap her and excused myself to get a drink, taking the long way around. Back the way we’d come, past the furthest table, cutting behind the Ambassador. He was talking with someone I didn't recognize but neither seemed to notice me. Music started up and both men turned. I used his momentum to snag his access badge from his pocket and replace it with a replacement SHIELD had made up. Then did actually make my way to the bar.

“Serra, meet me as planned in three minutes.” I mumbled into my drink.

_< Good work Romanov. Just as planned.> _

There was several more minutes of Escobar mingling that didn't involve me or even come close to mentioning me and I took the time to take notes of security. If the distraction goes as planned then it wouldn't come to any sort of need to alert them but with Barton you never know…

I gave Barton thirty seconds before downing the rest of my drink and meandering towards the bathroom. Serra was waiting and looking anxious. _Ah, first field missions_ , I thought wistfully. _You never forget your first._

“You got it?”

I shushed her. “Here,” I said shortly. “You should be fine but still be quick about it.” She slid the card into a hidden pocket in her dress.

“You're sure it’ll work? No one's going to notice?” She fidgeted as I fixed some stray wisps of hair from my face again.

“It’ll be fine. We shouldn't leave at the same time. I'll go first then wait a minute and head straight for your entrance.” I gave her a hard look. “You do remember where that is right?”

She glared back. “Yes!”

_< Good. Get going you guys; Escobar is looking for you, Romanov.> _

_Serra and I shared a look. I nodded at her and left without a second glance._

_< Romanov, Escobar incoming. Eight o’clock.> _I already knew, I could hear him greeting a passer-by.

I turned and smiled at him. “Come, my dear. I was promised a dance.”

He offered his arm and I genuinely smiled. _Finally something to do._ “Of course, Julian.”

I let him lead me down the steps and onto the dance floor as the music queued up again. It was a live band of course. We didn't talk, though we were inches apart. I'd trained almost exclusively dancing and quite honestly it was just all second nature. I moved but my mind was wandering, searching for the target. I found him while upside down in a dip. He was at a table near the balcony, deep in conversation with state officials; he had no idea anything had been switched.

 _< Serra you can't just stand there!> _Thomas definitely seemed too tense for how easily the night was progressing. I didn't bother looking for her in the crowd.

Julian spun me then pulled me close again as the music came to an end. I smiled at him, though I was getting really sick of doing so. “Wait for me on the balcony, why don't you? I'm just going to get a drink.”

“Don't be long, Julian,” I told him sweetly. He released my hand and turned to go. The balcony was to my right now from the way we’d moved. Yuri was talking with a bodyguard but it appeared friendly.

I reached the top of the steps and was bumped into. I turned to look and apologize and could hear the man speak—


	9. Musings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super short chapter this time, and probably the last we'll see of Lera for a little while. Need to finally get back in the Serra groove~

Lera's POV

 

They were both staring at me. “What?”

Fury spoke first. “You turned and then what?” 

I shook my head. “I don't know. It goes black for a while.” It was dark out. We’d been at this longer than I was usually awake lately. I hate healing, it makes me so tired.

Fury seemed to be thinking. My mom just looked at me strangely. I didn't like either reaction.

“We can pick this up again tomorrow. Get some rest, Valeriya.” Fury stood to go and Natasha followed him saying she'd be back soon. I was alone for the first time since regaining consciousness. Tired as I was, and foggy from the persistent pain, sleep would have to wait as there was too much to think about. 

The tablet gave me internet access and I'd tried to catch up on the news through the days. Aliens. It was certainly something new I guess. Aliens and Norse gods. Norse, Greek, Christian, does it matter in the end? Probably not.

Clint said the kids wanted to come by and see me but he was putting it off until I was better. I'm not sure small children would really be a good idea right now, he's probably right to delay them.  _ I should start a list of things I want from the apartments…  _

I'd finally been allowed access to a mirror. I guess they deemed me sane enough to handle the shock. Nat had already informed me that the fracture to the back of my skull had required them to shave the underside of my head. Thankfully someone managed to keep them from getting rid of all my hair. The bruising along my neck was mostly faded. Just a mottled green and yellow print now compared to what I can only imagine was originally nearly black. There had been a few stitches in my neck they'd already taken out and a little scar along my cheek. Still no luck on getting ahold of my chart though. 

I wonder what Steve was up to after the battle of New York. Hopefully we'd get to spar again when I'm cleared.  _ Is it lying if I don't tell him about my dad? _ I'd never been good with ethical dilemmas, they left too much out. I'm not a leader, those calls aren't for me to make. Nothing is clear cut good or bad, something that seemed to drive Serra crazy. Her world was still black and white. 

_ Serra. _ I frowned. They'd told me she was fine, just some minor injuries, but I hadn't seen her. Aside from my parents and the director, I wasn't allowed visitors. Even Pierce wasn't technically allowed in. If she was fine then they'd probably already released her back to Clint. She'd probably want to see her grandmother, then.  _ I wonder if Steve’s been to see Aunt Peggy yet? _ He had to know she's alive. It was probably the first thing he did after he woke up. 

_ Wait… if my aunt is Serra's grandmother does that make her my niece? _

Ugh, it was probably best not to go down that train of thought. It was definitely time to try and sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me and my amazing co-writer (who does Lera's chapters) know what you think in the comments! What did you like or not like? What do you think could be improved upon? We appreciate reader feedback to let us know how we're doing!


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